“Wait. I was frozen?”

  “Twelve hours. There was concern about a trap after your craft went dark. People have tried to fool us before.”

  “Slow down. Is this Aeterna?”

  “We’re in orbit. You’re the first new arrival in three months. We only have sixty-three unaccounted for.”

  “Sixty-three?”

  “The Bouchet immortals. We were resigned to never finding the rest, and then you show up at the front door. You had quite a journey. You go by Exeter?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “We couldn’t find you in the database. It was a bit surprising given your age. You would have been in the Bouchets’ third cycle. The transfer records were cleanest during those years, but many children were given a complete identity change, and some hid under pseudonyms. You’ll have plenty of time to fill in the gaps. It’s not important now. What I’d like you to do is walk around a bit, make sure you’re steady, and I’ll bring you a fresh change of clothes.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ve been asked to show you to the landing bay. Lots of cool things happening down there, and someone wants to meet you. Be back in a moment, Exeter.”

  He couldn’t make sense of it. Angela said the Aeternans would be skeptical of his plea for asylum and delay a rescue, but she also promised him enough fuel to hold out. Did she lie? They always lied. His slavers on Everdeen. Katherine, Amayas, Ryllen. At every stage.

  Exeter flexed his left arm and felt no mechanical sensation.

  At least she kept one promise.

  “We’re not all like Dayton Romilius,” Angela insisted. “Our soldiers don’t receive replacements this advanced.”

  The woman returned with a blue, pocketless cotton shirt and gray shorts. As Exeter changed, she evaluated his data in a holo.

  “You won’t need to relieve yourself for some time. We took care of that earlier. But if you’d like to shave, I’ll show you a bathroom.”

  He’d forgotten about the beard until now. He hadn’t shaved since crossing the divide. More than a month, probably. Time felt uncertain.

  “No thank you. I’m fine for now.”

  “I quite like it, Exeter. The color is almost a perfect match for your bleached braids. We encourage individual stylings on Aeterna.” She pointed to her tattoo. “You choose whatever feels best. Ready?”

  “The landing bay. Right. What’s your name?”

  Her smile was disarming, like she’d been asked to tattle.

  “Not until you’re made.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not my department. Come on.”

  She said nothing to Exeter as the lift took them down three levels. They walked out onto a massive landing bay, far bigger than he remembered on Scylla or the Aurelius. Three idle Scramjets parked close by, but were dwarfed by massive loaders and an industrial assembly line deeper into the ship. A multitude of voices grabbed his attention.

  Dozens of men and women in black and bronze body armor raced into formation, creating six equal lines, their bodies in position as if waiting for the starting pistol of a sprint. One hand tapped the floor. In the other, they held up a weapon that mystified Exeter. He recognized the architecture of a blast rifle like the Force Drum he used for five years. However, a long blade resembling a bayonet clung to the rifle’s side and extended beyond the barrel. A jetpack with dual thrusters grew from their backs.

  “Sequence four!”

  A deep, ghostly voice echoed across the bay. At once, the soldiers in black and bronze raced through each other in a lattice pattern, the blade extended to find its target. They skirted each other yet landed in their new positions unscathed.

  “Sequence five!”

  The soldiers pivoted. The outer rows pointed their weapons inward, in direct opposition to the inners. All leaned forward until a bell rang once. They charged, their blades certain to hit the mark this time. They were going to kill each other.

  “What are they doing?” He asked his guide.

  “Dexterity practice.”

  “For what?”

  “You’re about to see. Practice has five sequences. Everyone passed. Look out there.”

  She pointed through the cascade barrier that held back the vacuum of space. A blue-green planet rose to meet the bottom quadrant, but Exeter focused on three combat ships hovering at a distance. They were too far out to recognize the designs with certainty.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Watch. You’ll be inspired.”

  The ghostly voice rose again.

  “Commence drill in five seconds. Four, three …”

  The soldiers took their starting positions. They tapped their neck collars, and the armor encased their heads in a blink. Exeter thought the process identical to Talon tech. At the bell, they charged. As they hit the threshold, they hurled themselves into space. The jetpacks kicked into action as they navigated the vacuum.

  Exeter never saw anything like it. The soldiers maintained their lines, their precise distance between each other unvaried.

  “Over here,” the woman said. “You’ll have a better view.”

  Two men in blue/gray bodysuits stood behind giant holos and commented as they watched the drill from the vantage points of Lioness, the Scramjet five kilometers away, and the transports waiting on the wings. Schematics followed each soldier, with vital statistics and course projection. The men, not much older than Exeter, wore facial tattoos, tighly knotted braids, and their irises glowed yellow.

  “Targets acquired.”

  The voice transmitted from the Scramjet.

  “Firing lateral bursts.”

  Starboard batteries opened up, delivering steady streams of laser missiles on an intersect course for the approaching soldiers. One of the men behind the holos – Exeter assumed a high-ranking officer – made an announcement to the soldiers.

  “Five seconds to direct dispersion. Assess and flex … now.”

  Hundreds of laser pulses in more than a dozen streams snaked through the invading force but none made impact. The soldiers maneuvered like they had in the earlier sequences, this time using their jet packs for control.

  “Field is clear. Continue pursuit. Three kilometers. Prepare for spiral tactics. In five, four, three, two …”

  A second later, from the Scramjet:

  “Random dispersion engaged. Full barrage.”

  The batteries swiveled, unleashing untamed pulses that appeared to cross streams and create a field of laser fire so thick, penetration seemed impossible. The soldiers raced into its midst.

  This time, the lines dissolved into chaotic geometry as the soldiers flipped, skirted, and twisted with jet power to avoid impact. Soon, a few attackers lit up in a fleeting burst of incandescence followed by a corresponding red schematic on the giant holos. And another. Still more.

  Yet the batteries continued to fire and the soldiers advanced. Those who were hit plunged uncontrollably, sometimes thrown by a second blast. Others flipped end over end toward the planet.

  The officers were unmoved, making casual note of their losses.

  When the firing stopped, Exeter couldn’t believe what he saw. Most soldiers got through, penetrating the defensive field. They were too close for the batteries to take them out.

  New voices rang loud and true.

  “Tag.”

  “Tag.”

  “Tag.”

  Two dozen. Now three. The soldiers landed on the Scramjet’s hull as if drawn in like magnets.

  “Congratulations,” an officer said. “We show seventy-five percent success. Nav Fortas, drop egress and allow your visitors onboard.”

  “Confirmed, Admiral. Welcome in, Spiders.”

  The Admiral added:

  “Net, we have twelve pickups. Nav Harker, confirm acquisition.”

  “We’ve got them, Admiral. All Nets moving into position to make the grabs. We’ll have them out of regen and in the House in thirty.”

  “Confirmed, Nav.”

  Exeter forgot about his guide until she leaned in.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to say. That was combat training?”

  She didn’t answer. The owner of the ghost’s voice appeared from behind. He walked past them, paying no mind, and approached the general. He was a goliath in black and bronze, his armor matching the soldiers. He displayed raging muscles, his arms holding a wide girth. A shower of long, black braids rained halfway down his back.

  “Best one yet,” the Admiral said.

  The goliath lifted a cylindrical pipe to his lips and pulled. He released a steady white stream and handed it to his Admiral. His voice boomed as if he were still speaking into a sound system.

  “Another three months, and we might be ready. Great job, Kane.”

  Admiral Kane enjoyed his celebratory puff.

  “How long to turnaround this time?”

  “Give the regens an hour to analyze the data then send them out again. Let’s see how they can be pushed today. Three more rounds oughta do the trick.”

  “Confirmed, Minister.”

  The goliath was pivoting when the officer stopped him.

  “Oh, and I forgot to congratulate you on number three, Michael. I heard the news this morning.”

  “Thank you, Rafael. Sam and I are excited. Boys are magical, but we need girls, too.”

  “I’d love to get down to Promise someday soon to see Daniel and Harrison. Or you could bring them up here for a field trip.”

  “Good idea. I’ll look at my calendar.”

  “You do that. And don’t forget: The rest of us actually sleep.”

  Michael let loose a horselaugh then turned and faced Exeter.

  “Our newest, Minister,” the woman said. “I knew you wanted to see him at first opportunity.”

  “I did. Thank you, Doc Ranke. You’re dismissed.”

  Exeter did not need a formal introduction. There was no mistaking the minister’s identity. He was the one Angela Poussard wanted to kill herself. The man who mocked her at surrender, who blew smoke in her face, and later sent weapons to Earth that killed millions. He was much bigger than she described. His muscles were monstrous to the point of absurdity. His rigid jawline was hidden by a full beard, coiffed with a gentlemen’s care.

  Angela described surrendering to a bald man but added: “He’s the only one with black skin amid immortals created in the image of Chancellors.” She hated the eyes most. “Cocky, arrogant. They dig deep into the gut. Don’t be taken in.”

  Then came the smile. As Minister Michael Cooper introduced himself and extended his hand, he stretched those lips to form a bared-teeth greeting that exuded friendship but did not take itself seriously. It was the styling of a man who could not lose, and he knew it. That was Angela’s cold assessment.

  Exeter accepted his hand, from which came a grip that might shatter a lesser man’s bones. Michael blinked twice in rapid succession, and his irises became like red dwarf stars. He waved a hand in front of his face and threw open a holo.

  “This is everything we know about you, Exeter Woolsey. It’s pretty goddamn limited. No chance you made it to our Nexus without some big fucking contacts. Got an interesting story to tell?”

  “I do, Minister.”

  “Hold off on the titles until you’re made. Then you’ll be one of us.” Michael pointed toward open space, where operations began to recover the bodies of those who did not survive the drill. “Think you can run those paces?”

  “Looks exciting.”

  “A shitload of training, and that’s before you step off Lioness.”

  “Won’t take me long, Michael. I’m a soldier.”

  “Don’t see that in your puny profile. Experience?”

  “I fought in a war for five years. I’ve killed thousands.”

  Michael stifled a laugh. “Bold claims. There’s only been one war since we took Aeterna, and that one lasted three years.”

  “I didn’t fight in Earth’s civil war, but I wanted to. You haven’t heard of my war.”

  “Be honest on every point except our association,” Angela told him. “He will catch you in a lie. The bastard is much smarter than he looks.”

  Michael flashed that certain-to-be-victorious smile.

  “I know what’s going on out there. Don’t shirk on the best bits.”

  “I won’t.”

  Exeter realized nothing he said would surprise Michael. Angela recited the legend of a gangly teenager who crossed from a primitive universe, became a soldier, and helped bring down an empire. She gritted her teeth through the telling because she reluctantly knew it to be far more fact than fiction.

  “He will be curious,” she said. “He’ll make you feel appreciated. Trust none of it, but play along with his antics.”

  “I’ve set aside an hour,” Michael said. “That should be enough to answer all the important questions.”

  “I’ll make sure of it. I risked everything to come here.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Then I’ll be one of you?”

  “You’re a funny guy, Exeter. No, you won’t be an Aeternan till after you’re made.”

  “You said that before. What does it mean?”

  Michael spun Exeter around and pointed to words inscribed along the portside bulkhead:

  Learn to love. Prepare to kill.

  “Aeternans embrace the message, but it comes easier to some than others. Hopefully, you take to it. We’ve only had two failures.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “There aren’t many ways to kill an immortal for good, but fire is damn effective.”

  9

  E XETER TOLD HIS LIFE STORY, from his early years in sexual slavery on Everdeen, to his years with Amayas Knight and adopted mother Katherine, to the Swarm war, his bond with Ryllen, and to his capture by the Chancellors. He altered the final chapter, per Angela Poussard’s requirements. Exeter said he killed two guards transporting him within the Fourth Fleet and spaced the bodies after entering the Fulcrum. Bloodstains planted on the tiny ship supported his story.

  Did Michael believe any of it? Did he care? That uncertainty dominated Exeter as he told his tale at a generic conference table in a sparse meeting room somewhere on Lioness. Michael gave him a bottle of water and told him to leave out nothing.

  Aeterna’s ruler put his feet up on the table and ate from a bowl of nuts. From time to time, he set down the bowl and smoked for a while. A white cloud settled above the goliath as he blew rings and never flinched, showed excitement, or interrupted with obvious follow-up questions.

  His eyes shifted color. Sometimes the left turned orange before pushing out a holo that Michael appeared to study. Other times, he used the right, as if the man couldn’t make up his mind.

  “Then the ship died,” Exeter said. “The doctor said I was frozen for twelve hours. I’ve died before, but never for so long.”

  Michael wiped away his holo and pushed back his swivel. Feet on the floor, he penetrated Exeter with eyes that almost looked human. He held out his pipe.

  “Smoke?”

  “Thank you.”

  Michael slid the pipe across the table. Exeter double-tapped and pulled a healthy drag. It tasted nothing like the poltash he smoked during the war. It was better. A sweetness that intoxicated plus a pungent aftertaste to create a refreshing overall experience.

  “What is this called?”

  “A special blend. For you, a preview – if you’re made. Thanks for the story, by the way. You’ve been through some nasty shit. If you were a mortal kid, you’d have been dead by ten. I’ll never understand it – raping kids like that. Humans!”

  “I try not to think about it.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard that line a couple thousand goddamn times. There are twenty-five hundred and thirteen immortals on Aeterna, and I know all their stories by heart. Give me a name, and I can recite chapter and verse just like they told me. We’ve all been through ten kinds of hell, but you Bouchet immortals had it worse. Irony is, you were supposed to be the next evolutionary leap. Those assholes sent you lot out to the colonies to see how you’d assimilate. Yeah, they fucked that up.”

  “I don’t know much about the Bouchets.”

  “Not worth your time. They’re ash, and so are their records. Now, let’s go back to your story. This business with the Splinters is interesting. I’ll have to do some poking around. Not the biggest surprise, to be honest. Hell, I walked through a damn hole between universes. After that, nothing much tends to shock a fella. So, about Ryllen Jee. He was alive the last time you saw him?”

  “He was.”

  “Good to know. We’ll do some backtracking and bring him home. You’d like that, right?”

  “No.”

  “I thought he was your lover.”

  “He didn’t fight for me when I needed him.”

  “People can be weird like that. Doesn’t mean you give up. Hell, I crossed the galaxy to save the love of my life. Now we have the two most beautiful kids you’ll ever meet. Third on the way.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Exeter returned the pipe, from which Michael pulled hard. He streamed the white smoke out his nostrils.

  “There’s one tiny part of your story that needs some clarification. This Amayas Knight. You say they call him the Inventor. Rescued you off Everdeen when you were thirteen. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember the standard year he found you?”

  “5360. It was two years after the Chancellors fell.”

  “He already had the Splinters by then? Yes?”

  “He did.”

  “Never told you anything about his life?”

  “No. He had a full facial transplant. I’m certain Amayas wasn’t his birth name, but he never confirmed one way or the other.”

  “Did he know you were immortal when he rescued you?”

  “Yes. He told me the truth before he sent me across the divide.”

  Michael looked away, his eyes going to a distant place. He didn’t hold the pose for long.